A kitchen worker noticed him, hesitated, then pressed a warm plate into his hands and whispered for him to eat quickly out of sight.
Kai thanked her seriously and ate slowly, carefully, as if rushing might make the food disappear.
From afar, he watched the laughter, suits, and shimmering dresses, wondering if his mother lived a life like this.
The music changed, a hush fell, and guests turned toward a stone staircase draped in flowers.
The bride appeared, radiant in white, dark hair resting softly on her shoulders, her smile calm and composed.
Kai stopped breathing, not because of her beauty, but because of the red string bracelet on her wrist.
It was worn, frayed, and knotted in the same uneven way as his own.
His hands shook, heart pounding, and he stepped forward, pulled by something stronger than fear.
“Ma’am,” he said softly, voice breaking, “where did you get that bracelet?”
The room fell silent, music continuing unnoticed as the bride looked down at her wrist.
She raised her eyes slowly, and when their gazes locked, she gasped and fell to her knees.
Her dress pooled on the ground as she whispered, trembling, “What is your name?”
“Kai,” he answered quietly. “My name is Kai.”
The officiant’s microphone slipped and struck the floor as murmurs rippled through the stunned crowd.
The groom stepped forward, confusion written across his face, asking softly what was happening.
The bride’s composure shattered as she sobbed, confessing she was nineteen, alone, and believed leaving him saved his life.
“I never stopped thinking about him,” she cried. “I kept the bracelet because I could not keep him.”
She pulled Kai into her arms, holding him as if he might vanish again, begging for forgiveness.
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